9
The rest of the train journey is unsurprisingly quiet. None of the Kingsmen bother to check on us, although the doors and windows are all sealed, so it’s not as if they have any need. Rush brushes away any offers of sympathy or help, refusing to do anything other than skulk to a corner and act as if none of it happened. I try to feel bad about everything – it’s not often I’ve hurt anyone on purpose – but then I remember the way poor Wray was shaking with fear.
Wray doesn’t talk quite as much through the rest of the journey and I wonder if perhaps he is a little scared of me too. Certainly none of the others bother to approach us.
Now we are travelling south, I feel my first real moment of excitement as the train begins to slow. We have all heard of Middle England, and seen it on our screens and thinkpads, but none of us will have ever visited here. I push myself against the window and stare upwards, trying to peer around an impossible angle to take in the enormity of it all. I can see two towering glass buildings soaring above us and turn to see another pair on the opposite side. All of us, including Rush, are pressed against the windows in awe, trying to take in what is around us.
Middle England is a crossroads where our four Realms meet. Each Realm has a tower which serves as a trading and political hub. The people working there are in charge of bartering with each other and allocating our rations, not that I have ever known anyone visit Martindale. Sometimes, if something serious is happening, the screens will show us pictures from Middle England but the images are nothing compared to the sheer majesty of the place. As well as the four towers, there are other smaller but equally impressive buildings. People hurry between them, looking identical in dark suits.
As we edge slowly through the junction, I try to predict the exact point which means I am at the cross section of the Realms; where I am either in all four at the same time, or none at all, depending on which way you look at it.
When we accelerate away, I realise I have left the North for the first time ever. I exchange a look with Wray as we sense this is actually happening. I assume we are now in the South but there are no announcements. As the train continues, the scenery is much the same as it is in the North, although there do seem to be more places that have been rebuilt.
It doesn’t feel like long before the carriage doors slide open and one of the Kingsmen enters, telling us we should arrive at Windsor Castle within half an hour. As he turns to leave, he glances at the marks on Rush’s face. Although I didn’t hit him there, he must have landed awkwardly because one of his eyes has already blackened.
‘Is everything all right here?’ he asks, peering around the cabin, but Rush nods and doesn’t elaborate.
The man’s eyes are narrow and he looks at us all, wondering if there is something he has missed, but doesn’t add anything before leaving the room.
After a while, the train slows again and we drop into a tunnel that continues for a few miles until we stop completely. Our carriage is well lit but it is difficult to see anything outside. I press my face against the glass again and think I can make out another train next to us. The atmosphere is more apprehensive and I can feel the nervous energy humming between us.
There are voices nearby but we all stay sitting as the noise of the train dies. The lights flicker and then go out completely. I feel Wray fidgeting next to me and a shuffling of movement in the carriage. I wonder if Rush will use this moment to get his revenge and grasp around for Wray. I take his hand more for my own comfort than his, before the lights sputter back to life. I glance around the room but Rush is still in the same seat he was before, meeting my eyes for a moment and then looking away.
The door swishes open and someone, who I first assume to be a Kingsman, strides in. It is only when I take a second glance that I realise the man in front of me is the Minister Prime. Everything I have seen of him on screen is nothing compared to the way he looks in real life. He towers over everyone and even if Opie was here, he would barely reach the man’s shoulders. From where I am sitting, my eyes are level with his thighs, which seem broader than my waist. He is wearing thick dark gloves, his hands as big as the plates we eat from at home and, although his uniform is nearly the same as a regular Kingsman’s, it seems lighter and sleeker, almost absorbing the overhead light, instead of reflecting it. His eyes skim quickly around the cabin, taking us all in briefly before he rocks back onto his heels.
‘You will all now be shown to your quarters,’ he says. His voice is deep and brimming with authority as he points to the side I am sitting on, and then indicates the other side. ‘Girls with her, boys over there. This evening there will be a banquet where you will be formally introduced to the King as his Offerings.’
After another glimpse around, he turns and thunders back out of the carriage, his boots echoing loudly. As he leaves, the other girls hover around me, as Wray nervously crosses to the other side. He catches my eye and I give him a gentle nod to let him know I will see him later. Two Kingsmen enter and, without speaking, one of them flashes a hand in our direction, telling us to follow him. I am at the front as the two Elite girls fall in line behind me. I make one final glance towards Wray, who is at the back of the five boys, as we exit the carriage and step onto a stone platform.
The Kingsman’s pace is quick and I feel slightly restricted in the dress, although not as much as the female Elite whose sparkling silver gown is even tighter and more elaborate than mine. Jela is almost running to keep pace. Pietra doesn’t speak but I can hear her footsteps behind me.
The train must have stopped under the castle as we are led up a winding set of stone steps and I feel the temperature rising. The stairs open onto a corridor lit by rows of what I first think are candles, before I realise they have small flame-shaped light bulbs on top of white stems. The Kingsman doesn’t stop, turning left out of the passage, but I pause to look in both directions. The walls are grey and made of solid-looking thick stone and there is a deep red carpet on the floor. The candle lights stretch as far into the distance, leaving me to wonder how much power they have here compared to Martindale. I catch up with the Kingsman before he can turn to look for us. I try to remember the route back to the top of the stairway, but quickly lose track of the tight twists and turns. In the top corners of many of the corridors and stairways are small cameras attached to the ceiling with blinking lights underneath. Some of them swivel to follow our route, adding to my unease.
Eventually, the Kingsman pushes through a heavy wooden door and leads us into a large room where the luxury is unlike anything I have ever encountered. The carpet is thick and bouncy and there are beds twice the width of mine at home placed around the edge. We step inside as the door bangs loudly closed behind us. Four girls are already in the room and one of them tells us they are from the South. I stand in the centre, wondering if any of the beds have been assigned. Pietra and Jela are already sitting on beds next to each other, close to the others. Something about the way the door closed didn’t sound right, so I try the handle but it is instantly clear we are locked in. The room is lit by a row of windows, but these are also locked, the glass rippled in a way that makes it impossible to see through.
I choose the bed furthest away, lying on it and staring at the ceiling as I enjoy the way it supports my body. At home, I know every inch of my bed, the uncomfortable ridges and the springs that have long since broken. I wonder if I will be able to sleep with this new-found comfort. Next to each bed is a tall, thin wardrobe. Inside are a handful of dresses as well as white jumpsuits and boots, none of which I would choose to wear at home.
I listen to the girls talking and realise I have never really spent much time with other females through my life. Aside from my mother, I have been surrounded by boys. Even on the train, I felt drawn to Wray as opposed to the females. The other six girls are chatting excitedly about their journeys and how they felt about being chosen.
I am already the outsider.
I check my thinkwatch but, as I guessed would happen, the communication function isn’t working. Usually, I would be able to send messages to my mother, Colt, Opie, or anyone else if I knew their ID. Here, the signal is dead.
Throughout the afternoon, girls from the other Realms arrive until there are fifteen of us dotted around. The female Trog from the south, who seems to be called Faith, has taken the bed in the opposite corner to me, although no one seems to be picking on her in the way Rush tried to target Wray. For the most part, I keep to myself, not knowing how to make the small-talk which seems to come so easily to others. I feel as if my mind is already a step ahead of where the others are. For them, this is exciting; the extravagance of our room is something to be enjoyed. I think of the cameras, the locked door and the windows we can’t see out of and cannot open.
The voices are silenced as a woman opens our door and tells us it is time to go to the banquet. She is wearing a flowing green gown that stretches to the floor. I don’t recognise her and she doesn’t introduce herself. I choose to stay in the dress I already had on, although some of the girls have changed into something fancier from the wardrobes.
We file out behind the woman in green but I deliberately make sure I am at the back. The maze-like corridors across a selection of floors make it impossible to track our route. As I find myself wondering if the layout is deliberate, I also worry that I have already become paranoid. It is hard to feel differently as cameras continue to turn as we do.
Despite all this, I feel awestruck as we are led through wide, thick wooden doors into a hall. The first thing I notice is the massive high ceiling, which is unlike anything I have ever seen. It is painted with images of various animals, of which I recognise only a few, but the bright colours are exquisite and the detail amazing. Banked rows of seats flank the room and we are directed to a rectangular area in the centre. I look up to see various people in the chairs staring down upon us and it is hard not to be intimidated. I am not used to being the centre of attention. A line of boys enter from a door on the other side and I spy Wray at the back, staring up high towards the people above us. In the middle of the area is a long wooden table, with benches running alongside it. One by one we sit, girls on one side, boys on the other, with Wray opposite me. I catch his eye and wink, which he returns with a smile.
Above us, the Minister Prime is sitting in a box, with more cameras above him pointing towards us. He looks at us unmoving as other voices chatter on. I watch him closely as he slowly stands, then holds his arm out to the side, demanding silence with an authority nobody dares challenge. Instantly the room is quiet before he raises his arms. Everyone stands in the seats above us and we follow the unspoken command. Underneath the box, trumpeters wearing red and white uniforms raise their instruments to their mouths and launch into the national anthem.
I have never been that patriotic but still feel a tingle shoot down my spine as the doors next to the Minister Prime are opened by two Kingsmen, revealing the King standing at the back of the box in a flowing cherry gown. To see him on screen and on the various posters that are put up around Martindale is one thing, but there is something about witnessing him in person which is hard to describe. His hair is as bright as on screen, his frame just as imposing, but in person there is something more. He has an aura around him, making you feel drawn to his presence. I’ve always thought Opie had something similar, although much of that was because of his height. This is something different and, perhaps for the first time in my life, I can see why he was able to end a war that we have always been told could have destroyed us all.
He walks towards a huge throne next to the Minister Prime and offers a small wave before trying to sit. As I watch, something doesn’t seem quite right. The King falls the last few centimetres onto his seat, hitting his head on a curved part near the top of the throne. If it hurt, then he doesn’t react, instead leaning against the head rest and blinking quickly as if trying to stop himself falling asleep. I feel a sense of confusion around the room, the hush of his entrance being replaced by murmurs of bewilderment. Angrily, the Minister Prime extends his arm, demanding a silence which is instantly granted.
On the other side of the King is the woman in green who led us into the hall. She stands and surveys us before introducing herself as Deputy Minister Prime Ignacia. She has dark black hair, styled high in a way I have never seen before. Her voice is deep but full of authority, although she has a way of making it sound as if she isn’t talking down to us.
She welcomes us as this year’s Offerings and then asks for those from the South to stay standing while everyone else sits. There is a ripple of applause from the seats above but I continue to watch the King, who appears to be struggling to stay awake. His eyes are closing for seconds at a time before opening again. The way I felt intimidated by his charisma a few moments ago now seems misplaced.
After the South, the West’s Offerings stand and are clapped, before it is our turn. It feels slightly silly to be praised simply for being who you are but I go with it and enjoy seeing Wray’s reaction. He turns a full circle, taking in the reception, before we sit again.
After we have all been introduced, Ignacia says it is time for the official welcoming banquet, at which a large set of double doors open and people dressed in white trousers and smocks appear carrying plates of food. Suddenly there is noise again, whispered approval passing around the table and the sound of metal knives and forks being raised.
The meal is unlike anything I have ever known. Huge platters of meats are placed in front of us: pork, chicken, beef, lamb along with potatoes, vegetables, breads, gravies, and many other things I don’t even know the names for. Wray’s eyes are bulging as an entire turkey is placed in front of him. At first there is a politeness, with us all looking at each other, before it quickly becomes a free-for-all. All around the table are Offerings grabbing at the food, tearing chunks of meat as we eat with our hands. Before the food arrived, I did not feel hungry but now I am famished, breaking all the manners my mother ever taught me as I join in the frenzy. It isn’t just the amount of food which I find astonishing, it is the taste. The meats are juicy and rich, the bread warm and soft. I barely know where to reach next, our various arms and cutlery crossing as we stretch across each other.
Wray is eating a large drumstick from the turkey with his hands. He grins at me between mouthfuls and I can tell he, like me, has never seen anything like it. In my mind I make a note of everything I want to try but I am barely a quarter of the way through when I feel my stomach begin to seize. I fill a goblet with water and wash it down but, if anything, I feel fuller. Around me, I can see the other Offerings reaching a similar point but I look to the box to see the King still eating. In one hand, he has a bread roll while he is grasping a bottle of wine in the other. I wonder where his appetite comes from considering he must see this type of spread whenever he wants.
His head is bouncing from side to side and I suddenly realise who he reminds me of. In Martindale, there is a man named Mayall who always seems to have a bottle of wine near him. He disappears whenever the Kingsmen are around but frequently sleeps on the streets, even on the coldest evenings. As the King’s eyes roll back in his head, I understand that he is drunk. The images of our leader flashed to us on screen always show him as strong and noble; nothing like the man I see above me who cannot feed himself fast enough and looks as if he may topple over. I feel embarrassed about my own behaviour, eating with my hands and shovelling food as if it is normal, when my mother and Colt will be in our cold house this evening with next to nothing.
Across the table a few seats away from Wray, one of the other Offerings is watching me. As I catch his eye, he looks away quickly but then glances up again to see if I am still peering at him. He is one of the Elites from the West and has black hair and dark, olive skin. Somehow I can tell he is thinking something similar to me about the food. He offers a half-smile, widening his eyes as if to say ‘What can we do?’ and I like him instantly. He reaches for a piece of squishy yellow fruit I have never tried before. He hasn’t said a word but he is right, of course. We are unable to do anything about the wider situation around our Realms but that doesn’t mean we should deprive ourselves – especially as there is more food in front of us than we might usually eat all week. My stomach feels full but satisfied as I also chew slowly on a piece of the yellow fruit and give my new friend a knowing nod.
As the sound of eating begins to wane, the people in the white uniforms emerge from the doors again, clearing the remaining food and our plates. I start to wonder what will happen to what is left but the doors quickly open again and before I know what is happening, there are plates of extravagant desserts in front of us. I have tried chocolate a couple of times but have never seen anything like the cakes in front of us which are dripping in it. That is barely the start, though, as other creations covered in cream, fruits and many other things I can’t even describe are placed in front of us. My belly is bulging against the fabric of the dress but I almost feel obliged to keep eating if only to try the amazing new foods. None of us know exactly what is in store and this could be the only time a feast such as this is put on for us.
The chocolate cake is soft in the centre with a thick covering that is so rich I feel myself gagging. I eat a thin slice though, before cutting another piece, this time from a cake with strawberries on the top. Wray is still eating with his hands, while the Elite boy from the West is licking his fingers, having admitted defeat. I point at a spot on my chin before he realises what I am trying to say and wipes away a smear of cream.
Eventually the tables are cleared and the sounds in the room change to that of glasses and goblets being slurped from and placed on the table. Then, I turn to see the Minister Prime standing with his arm outstretched and the room falls into complete silence. His facial expression has not changed since we arrived and it is only now that I realise he didn’t seem to be eating when everyone else was. On his right-hand side, the King has finished but there are pieces of food stuck in his beard and he is still holding a wine bottle.
‘Welcome to Windsor,’ the Minister says, somehow making it sound threatening. ‘I thank you all for coming and hope you will be up to the highest of standards.’
I shiver but not because of the cold; it is because his words feel as if they are flowing through me. It is strange that he thanked us for coming seeing as none of us had a choice.
‘I know you will all be wondering what is in store for you but those questions will be answered tomorrow, for now …’
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as there is a large clattering noise. Across the table, Wray has knocked his goblet onto the floor and dives under the table to grab it. He emerges looking nervous and embarrassed, holding the metal cup aloft and placing it on the table, bowing his head towards the Minister and saying sorry.
The Minister Prime exchanges a look with the King, who rises to his feet. At first I think he is going to speak but instead he walks towards the row of steps which lead down towards us. He holds the rail but I can see him wobbling slightly and it seems as if everyone is holding their breath. The Minister Prime is still standing but even he has narrowed his eyes as he watches the King, curious as to what is happening.
The King stumbles towards a Kingsman at the bottom of the stairs and pulls a sword out of the officer’s belt. It appears heavy and unwieldy as he unsteadily waves it around, before seeming to figure out its weight and straightening himself. As he peers towards our table, the atmosphere changes. Wray looks at the King and then glances towards me. He is licking his lips, his eyes darting between the two of us. Above us, there is a hush but, whereas the earlier ones felt respectful, this seems full of fear.
As he bounces the sword up and down in his grip, the King continues to approach, passing me and walking around the edge of the table until he is standing next to Wray. The next few seconds slow almost to a stop as Wray stares up at the man standing over him and then turns to me, his eyes wide as he knows what is going to happen. Nobody speaks or moves as the King pulls the sword back before thrusting forward with a loud heave of effort.
In an instant, a droplet of what I know is blood lands on my cheek as the whites of Wray’s eyes stare into me, asking why he had to die.